


Angel

by hellhoundtheory



Series: A Destiel Christmas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundtheory/pseuds/hellhoundtheory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean decide that if the big cage match between Michael and Lucifer is going to go down, they weren’t going to spend their last Christmas stuck in a shitty motel room drinking even shittier whiskey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel

“Dean, come on!” Sam tried to help his brother lift the tree, but was instead swatted away.

“I got it, Sammy.” Dean struggled again, almost falling under the weight of the tree, which was much taller than him. Sam scowled and scooted his brother out of the way, pulling up the tree by the base branches and placing it into the tree stand filled with water. 

Huffing, Dean muttered, “Gigantor,” as he bent down to screw the tree in. With a chuckle, Sam left him to finish setting the tree up, knowing that Bobby would need help with the stockings and Christmas lights the Winchester boys had roped him into hanging.

"Shit!" Bobby exclaimed when he hit his hand with the hammer. Sam restrained his chuckle, and Bobby gave him a jowly glare and handed the younger Winchester the tools.

"Here, you put up your goddamn Christmas shit, you idjit." Bobby stalked off in search of hard liquor and a reason he kept the two boys around, while Sam finished nailing in the four stocking hangers on Bobby’s mantle. Four, because even though Castiel was an angel of the lord, he was still family. Four because Ellen and Jo were dead… Sam swallowed down the painful guilt in his throat at the thought. 

"You done yet… Sam?" He heard his older brother call.

"Yeah, just about, why?" Sam began putting away the tools and plugging in the string of lights, appreciating his work, remembering how important it was that he had fun this Christmas because he or Dean could give into the archangels any day. 

"Because I need your freak tallness, that’s why." With a small laugh, Sam went to help his brother trim the tree, forgetting about his troubles for a while as they criticized each other for being too girly in their placement of ornaments. 

—————

The boys had picked out simple lights, a simple garland, simple ornaments, cut down a simple tree, but the smell of pine, eggnog, and store-bought cookies was enough to make Dean think of simpler times, reminded of his mother and her cookies, and less alcoholic nog. 

When Castiel showed up, Dean couldn’t help but smile at the people gathered at Bobby’s table. His family. One almost fallen angel, one surrogate father, and two brothers who were the vessels of archangels. They were a ragtag bunch, but that didn’t make him any less contented, in that moment, eating ham, potatoes, and laughing over stories of simpler hunts from simpler times.

A bitter taste rose in his mouth thinking of just how complicated life was now. He looked up, his eyes meeting Cas’ from across the table. It was like the angel just saw right through Dean, saw into the core of his daddy issues and screwed up mentality and continued to stare boldly into a pit of his worst fears. Almost uncomfortable at the intensity of Cas’ gaze, at the promise of salvation held within it, Dean excused himself to “hit the head." Truthfully, Dean just wanted to be able to think for two seconds, to appreciate this day, to appreciate the fact that he and Sam weren’t dead or worse and that his family remained as intact as it could be. 

Dean didn’t make it to the bathroom, he was caught in Bobby’s living room, staring at the tree. It was a good six and a half feet tall, star on top, round baubles hanging off it, lit up like it should be. Somehow it didn’t create the same nostalgia as the tree he helped his mother trim when he was little. Maybe it was because the top was a star. His mother always made sure there was a porcelain-faced angel on top, watching over her little ‘pie belly.’ Her words, not his. 

He unlocked his gaze from the lighted star and was faced with Castiel. 

Dean coughed, “Uh, hey Cas." His companion was silent. The mighty angel stretched up on his toes, such a human gesture, and touched the star. It morphed into just the angel he was thinking of, blond curly hair, white robe. He never realized how much the angel from his childhood looked like his mother. Dean swallowed, overcome with nostalgia, looking at Castiel, trying to find the words to thank him.

Cas didn’t seem to want thanks. After a gentle touch on Dean’s shoulder, Cas stepped back into the dining room, as if nothing had happened. The hand print on Dean’s shoulder tingled for a moment, and then subsided with warmth when he looked back at the angel on the tree.

_Thanks for looking out for me, Mom._


End file.
